


Light(ning) Will Guide You Home

by Lecavayay, verbaeghe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Slow Burn, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: They meet on the ice, as all good hockey romances start."I’m Anthony, but you can call me Tony.”“Hey Tony. I’m Carter.” He smiles and shakes the hand he’s extended so politely.Tony beams up at him, his pointy nose and big eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “Will you teach me how to skate like you?”
Relationships: Anthony Cirelli/Carter Verhaeghe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Light(ning) Will Guide You Home

**Author's Note:**

> How many chances to two people get to make it right?

(8 and 6) 

They meet on the ice, as all good hockey romances start. 

Carter gets a new pair of skates for his eighth birthday and he goes to the rink at Erin Mills Twin Arena every day to break them in. He’s testing them out in a smooth backward skate when a wiry little kid comes barreling toward him. 

“Hey, whoa.” He puts his hands out to try and keep his distance but the kid must not know how to stop very well because he starts wobbling and manages to trip right into Carter’s arms. 

He tries to steady himself and Carter helps him find his balance again. “Sorry,” he says, sounding so Canadian it hurts. 

“No problem, bud.” 

“You’re really good.” 

“Thanks! I just got new skates.” 

The kid looks down at their feet. “Cool! I’m Anthony, but you can call me Tony.”

“Hey Tony. I’m Carter.” He smiles and shakes the hand he’s extended so politely. 

Tony beams up at him, his pointy nose and big eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “Will you teach me how to skate like you?”

“I’m not really, uh…”

“We can be best friends!” 

Carter caves because he assumes he’ll never see this kid again and it doesn’t hurt anyone to be nice and give some tips. “You wanna learn how to stop properly so you don’t run into anyone else?”

“Yes!” Tony skates off at a sprint and crashes into the wall, crumpling into a little pile. 

Carter hides a laugh behind his hand as he skates over to help him back to his feet. “Okay so, yeah. That’s definitely something you need to work on.”

Tony is all wide-eyed and interested as Carter talks about how to stop without slamming into the boards. He tries to remember everything his dad told him, everything his coach has said in passing. Tony takes it all in. 

“You wanna try? Do a lap and try to stop right in front of me.”

Tony does, doing pretty okay crossovers as he takes the turns. Carter can see the determination in his face as he heads for where Carter’s waiting, the focus in his scrunched up brow. 

He turns his skates and kicks up some snow before falling flat on his butt. 

“Not bad!” Carter cheers. “Try again and just be more confident about it.”

It goes on like that for nearly the rest of open skate. Tony’s done so many laps, his cheeks are red and his forehead’s a little sweaty. Carter tries to give him tips each time he fails and is impressed every time Tony makes the small tweak he suggested. 

Carter sees his mom over by the boards waiting to take him home. He knows this’ll have to be the last lap. 

Tony takes the last turn and picks up a little speed before he turns his skates and nearly stops on a dime, spraying Carter with snow. 

“I did it!” He throws his arms up over his head like he just scored an overtime winner.

Carter gives him at least ten high-fives before he tries to say goodbye. 

“Oh,” Tony says, face falling just a little. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

Carter smiles. “Yeah, I still gotta break in these skates some more.” 

“Awesome! I’ll be here too, we can work on more stuff!” 

Carter agrees and skates over to find his mom by the benches. 

“Who was that, honey?” she asks as he changes into his shoes. 

“My new best friend, Tony. We’re gonna hang out tomorrow.”

(11 and 9) 

Tony’s become something of a constant in Carter’s life. Well, his life at the rink, anyway.

They always spend all day Saturday (and Sunday if they can manage it) at Erin Mills. Today his dad rented the ice for a couple of hours and a big group of kids are all here playing pick up. Tony might be the youngest and smallest - by far - but dang if he isn’t holding his own out here. 

Tony dances around two defenders and roofs it over the goalie’s left shoulder. 

Spencer Martin rips off his mask. “Hey, no fair! He cheated!”

“Just how did he cheat?” Carter asks, sliding to a stop.

“I don’t know!” Martin shouts, jabbing a finger in Tony’s direction. “But he did _somehow_!”

“That isn’t actually a thing,” Carter laughs while a couple of other boys skid to a stop nearby.

“Hey, maybe he used his nose,” Jimmy Lodge says. 

Carter snaps his head towards him. “What did you say?”

“I said he could have used that huge honker to cheat,” he challenges, skating right up to Carter. The others gather in behind Jimmy, making various noises of encouragement.

A thousand things that Carter could say spring to his mind, but what happens is he hauls off and hits Jimmy as hard as he can. Feels the cartilage in his nose pop under his fist. It feels good when the asshole goes down holding his nose. 

All the other boys gasp and move back as one. Carter looks up. “You can all leave. This is my ice.” He uses his stick to push Jimmy towards them. “Take him with you.”

No one can argue with him, really. Owned time is owned time. A couple of boys help Jimmy struggle up and they skate for the door.

“Did I ruin the game?” Tony seems to be on the verge of tears. 

“No. _No_, they ruined the game.”

“Is my nose really that big?” he asks, frowning as he tries to get a look at it. He goes all cross-eyed. It’s super cute. 

“Your nose is perfectly straight, which is more than Jimmy can say,” Carter answers. 

Tony laughs as he looks back up. “What are we going to do now?”

“Well, I would offer to play goal for you, but after that last snipe, I don’t know if I wanna be embarrassed like that.”

Tony laughs again and his cheeks go a little pink. “I’m not that good.”

“You really are.” He opens his mouth but Carter hurries out, “Let’s just play keep away, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony’s crooked grin is the last thing Carter sees before he takes off with the puck.

Carter keeps the puck for about fifteen seconds before Tony steals it from him. And he doesn’t have it again for the rest of the time they’re out there. 

“Come on, I’ll get you a soft pretzel,” Carter says when they hear the Zamboni fire up.

“With a cheese cup?” Tony asks, pushing his hair from his face.

“Oh, feeling spicy today?”

“Shut up!” Tony shouts. Carter laughs.

Carter places their order and pays. He studies Tony for a second after they’ve moved down to wait for their pretzels and cheese. And Cokes, even though it should be Powerade. “Hey, you should ask your parents if you can stay over.”

“Really?” Tony looks up at him with those big brown eyes. He’s almost vibrating. Maybe Coke was a bad idea. “Your parents would be okay with that?”

“Uh, yeah.” Carter puffs up a little, tries to sound more sure. “If you wanna and yours’ll let you.”

“I’ll be right back!” Tony all but shouts before he turns and sprints away. Carter collects their snacks and heads for a table to wait. It isn’t long before Tony returns, dragging his mom along behind him.

“She says that she has to ask your mom about it.” Tony isn’t pouting, but it’s close. 

“Well, my dad will be here soon.” Carter checks the time. “In about five minutes.”

“That’s fine, dear,” she says when Tony looks up at her. 

“Let’s have our snack.”

“Okay!” Tony beams at him, taking the seat next to Carter. 

(16 and 14) 

Carter is a bundle of nerves. He’s playing in his first Major Junior game in just a couple of hours and he can’t settle himself down enough to even start thinking about his routine. If he just had something that would help him to--

“Hey.”

His head snaps up when he hears Tony’s voice. Carter thinks he might be imagining things, but it sure looks like he’s standing there in the doorway. “Tony?” 

His lopsided grin springs into view as he nods. 

“What are you doing here?”

He scoffs. “Did you really think I was going to miss your first game?”

“How’d you get in here?” Carter asks. It’s a deflection, but whatever.

“I told them that I had your lucky charm.” He shrugs. “You know how Canadians are about superstitions and hockey.”

“But I don’t have a lucky charm,” Carter says.

“‘Course you do. It’s me.”

“It’s you?” Carter echos, cocking his head.

“Yeah, duh.” Tony rolls his eyes and walks the last couple of steps to him. Carter looks down into his happy little face. “What else could it possibly be?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Carter relents with a smile. Tony like, squeaks with joy and throws his arms around Carter’s midsection.

“You’re going to be so amazing,” he says into the center of Carter’s shirt.

“You saying that as an impartial judge or as my best friend who has to say these things?” he asks, slipping his arms around Tony.

“Why can’t it be both?”

“I guess it can,” Carter agrees, giving Tony a little squeeze. 

Carter doesn’t actually do much of anything in his first game, but he’s pretty sure he can hear Tony every single time he steps on the ice.

Carter can’t get home fast enough at the end of the season. 

The knock downstairs doesn’t come the minute he places his suitcase down, but it _is_ pretty close. Carter debates going to answer the door himself, but he’d much rather hear--

Someone thunders up the stairs and appears in his doorway. 

“Took you long enough,” Carter says, smiling at his open suitcase.

“Shut up! You haven’t even unpacked yet!” Tony sounds so offended that Carter’s smile widens. He pulls out his phone and turns around.

“And yet, I have a text here that says you’ll be here before I even put my suitcase down.” He jiggles the phone a bit for emphasis.

“It isn’t my fault! My mom wouldn’t leave and then there was like, so much traffic and we got stuck at every light, and--”

“Okay, okay. Not your fault, I get it.” Carter glances at his suitcase and decides that it can wait. “Wanna go down to the basement and play Uncharted?”

“I’d rather play hockey.” He cocks his head towards the staircase. “My skates and stuff are downstairs.”

Carter sighs. “Okay, I’ll change and be down in a minute.” He pulls his shirt up over his head and turns to toss it into his laundry corner. Tony makes a noise that sort of sounds like a mouse being stepped on and starts coughing. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll, um. I’ll just wait downstairs,” Tony says before, well, running away.

Tony is already skating little figure-eights in the driveway when Carter steps outside. He stops and spends a couple seconds watching. Tony’s skating is way better than it was last Carter saw, and that little stick-handling move is sweet. Carter frowns, wondering who taught it to him. 

“Hey, where’d you learn that sweet move?” Carter keeps his voice light as he throws himself down to pull on his rollerblades.

Tony rolls up, comes to a stop in front of him. “Are you kidding me? I saw you do it against Brampton before you scored your goal.”

“Wait, when?” Carter raises his eyebrows.

“Back in November.” Tony shrugs. “I don’t do it as well as you, but.”

“You do it pretty well,” Carter says, feeling relieved. His smile blooms. “You watch my games, eh?”

“Shut up, like there’s ever anything other than hockey on.” Tony’s face and ears both go quite red. Carter decides to let him off the hook.

“Let’s see if you can do it past me,” he says, standing. 

They walk down to the park after hours of ball hockey practice. It’s a good way to cool down, but also, Carter really likes the extra time with Tony. Tony doesn’t make him talk all the time, or, like want him to recount every little thing that happened during the season. 

It’s nice.

What isn’t nice is the fact that all of the benches are taken.

“It’s fine,” Tony says when Carter frowns at the latest taken bench. “We can just sit on the ground.” He throws himself down and pats the grass next to him.

“It isn’t itchy?” Carter asks.

Tony shrugs, pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

Carter settles down next to him. It turns out that it is indeed fine to sit here with their backs to the lake, listening to the water break on the shore while they watch the sky change colors as it sinks into the skyline. (Might be better than fine, but Carter isn’t going to look at that too closely). It’s fine, too, to fill the silence between them with conversation, circling through topic after topic, catching up on things they’d only heard about through text the past few months. Eventually, like always, it lands back on hockey. 

“Hey, you gonna need a ride home?” Carter asks after he gives in to Tony and stops arguing with him about what the Leafs need to do this summer to be contenders.

“I mean, I could get a ride home…” Tony trails off, blinks over at Carter.

“Or you could spend the night.” Carter grins.

“Yeah, I think I like that one better.” 

So, after a couple of hours of video games, some boring Netflix show that Tony loves, and jockeying for mirror space to brush their teeth, it’s finally time for bed.

Carter pauses, his hand on the blanket. His bed is a queen and totally big enough for the two of them, but on the other hand, maybe Tony doesn’t want to keep sharing a bed with him when they’re. Um. It’s.

“Hey, do you want me to make up the couch?” Carter asks, indicating to it with his head.

“What?” Tony stops short across from Carter. “Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if you needed more room or your own space, or…?” Carter raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“There’s plenty of space here,” Tony says, climbing into bed.

Carter can’t help but smile while he snaps off the light and slips under the covers. 

They spend a couple minutes jostling around before coming to a stop facing one another. Carter can _just_ make out the shadow of Tony’s cheekbone in dim lighting from the streetlight outside. He swallows. “Hey, you know, if you keep up what you’re doing, like when we were playing today, you’re going to make the NHL for sure.”

“You really think so?” Tony asks. He sounds so happy that Carter wishes he could properly see his face.

“Yeah, for sure,” Carter nods. “I can see the headlines now: Anthony Cirelli, star NHL forward.”

“Shut up, I won’t be a _star_,” Tony says through giggles.

“You so will.”

“Well, you will too if I will,” Tony says.

Carter searches out Tony’s hand. “We both will. You and me, two-thirds of the first line for the Leafs.”

“Yeah, I like that,” Tony says through a yawn.

“It’s gonna happen.” Carter gives Tony’s hand a little squeeze.

“Can’t wait,” Tony says right before his breathing evens out.

Carter lets himself relax, and if he falls asleep still holding Tony’s hand? Well, it doesn’t bother Tony, so it doesn’t matter. 

(17 and 15)

Carter isn’t sure he’s breathing. He can only feel the way his heart beats against his chest, the way the echo of his name coming from Nonis’ mouth bounces around his head. It _was_ his name, right? 

He looks around and sees his parents beaming, reaching out for hugs. So, yeah. Definitely real. 

He just got drafted to the NHL. Holy shi--oot. He was just drafted by the _Leafs_. 

It’s a blur as he shakes a bunch of hands and gets blinded by camera flashes and gets escorted here and there and everywhere in the Prudential Center. Eventually, he gets rushed by his friends, some of them still waiting to hear their own names, and he sees Tony over one of their shoulders, waiting. 

He breaks out of the hug and heads straight for him, wrapping him up tightly in his arms. 

“You did it,” Tony says, quiet. “I knew you would and you _did_.”

“It’ll be you in a couple years. But you’ll go higher than me, though.” 

Tony punches him in the shoulder. “Shut up about me, let’s go celebrate _you_ future-Leafs-superstar-Carter-Verhaeghe.” 

“Yeah, lemme just…” He points his thumb over his shoulder. “Let me tell my parents. I’ll be right behind you.”

Tony smiles, barely having to look up at him now. “I’ll just wait. It’s fine.” 

Tony follows Carter to his hotel room with something tucked behind his back. Carter tries to see around him to catch a glimpse but Tony’s always been just a little bit quicker. 

“Just wait,” he says as the door falls shut behind them. “I have a whole thing.”

Carter sits on the end of his bed and enjoys the little nervous pacing Tony does before clearing his throat.

“It’s probably dumb, but I wanted to get you something nice to celebrate with. We’re all underage so, y’know, that rules out a lot of stuff but, uh. Yeah.” He presents the bottle with a flourish. There’s loopy gold writing on the label and gold tin foil around the cap. “We can pretend.”

“It’s perfect.” He takes the bottle and rips off the foil. “Are there glasses around?”

“Just these, I think.” He holds up the sleeve of plastic hotel cups. 

Carter gets the bottle open and takes a deep swig of the sparkling grape juice. He holds it out for Tony. “We’ll just share.”

Tony’s tight-lipped smile stretches across his face as he kicks off his shoes and joins Carter on the bed. He bounces a little as he drinks more juice. “D’you wanna watch a movie or something? Or we can talk about playing for the Leafs. Oh my god, you’re going to be _on that ice_.”

“I haven’t made the team yet.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Be cocky for once in your life.”

“I will not.” He snatches the bottle from Tony’s hand. “Pick a movie. Anything you want.” 

Tony does and they both settle back against the headboard after fluffing the pillows up just the way they like them. They pass the grape juice back and forth until it’s gone, the movie only halfway over. Carter’s phone has been vibrating in his pocket all night but the messages will keep. 

Tony, with his eyes getting drowsy and his hair falling soft over his forehead, leaning dangerously close to Carter’s shoulder, is much more important. He isn’t sure when that happened but it’s been…awhile. A very long time. 

“You’re gonna hurt your neck,” he says, nudging Tony a bit. “Get under the covers.” 

Tony snuffles and does as he’s told, burrowing down under the sheet until he’s just a tuft of hair. Carter finishes the movie even though Tony starts softly snoring, shutting off the TV and lamp when it’s done. 

He should wake Tony up and send him back to his room. It’s only a matter of time before his roommate will stumble back in from wherever he’s been celebrating and ruin the little cocoon they’ve built. 

It’s way easier to just join Tony under the covers and not worry about any of it. He just got drafted to the Toronto Maple Leafs and Tony is the only person he wants to share that with.

Carter is almost late back to St Catherines because he spends just a few minutes too long giving Tony pointers for his tryout. But he’s just in time (no bag skates for him) to meet the new hopefuls and fist bump last year’s teammates. 

They’re out celebrating not being in the last round of cuts when Carter’s phone rings. 

“Hey, I gotta take this,” Carter says, recognizing Tony’s ring. He turns away from the group.

“Someone special, Swags?” 

“Yes,” Carter says shorty, frowning at the nickname.

He takes a couple steps away as he thumbs open his phone. “What’s up?”

“I think I’m going to get cut,” Tony says quietly.

“What? That’s _bullshit_,” Carter snaps. “I’ve played against those assholes a hundred times and you’re better than any of them.”

“I wasn’t drafted and you have to do something amazing to make them notice you and the coach, I dunno, he frowns a little bit every time he looks at me.” Tony heaves a sigh. “And there’s just the game tonight and then I don’t know what else I can do.”

Carter looks at the clock and ponders. It’s only like, ninety minutes away. He doesn’t have a game tonight, he can make it. “Just wait right there, okay?”

“Carter, what--?”

“I’ll be there at your place in like an hour. I’ll take you to the game.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Yes, I do. See you soon.” Carter hangs up and turns back to his teammates. “Sorry, something came up. I gotta bail.”

He ignores the chirps about about being whipped and rushes home to his car.

Carter spends the whole trip to the arena giving Tony the peppiest of pep talks. Points out all the ways that Tony is better than everyone else, how smart he is on the puck. His strong forecheck. All of it.

Tony plays a hell of a game. It’s poetry in motion and Carter wishes that he could bottle it.

He still gets cut after the game.

“Hey, they’re wrong.” Carter wraps Tony up in a hug. “They’re wrong and we’ll find you something better. I promise.”

Carter will give up his spot on the IceDogs if he has to. Tony is better than him anyway. He deserves a chance.

“I just wish I was good enough.”

“You _are_,” Carter replies, squeezing Tony tightly. “Come on, I’ll get you some ice cream.”

They’re sitting in Tony’s favorite shop halfway through their double scoops when he gets a call.

“Uh, I think that’s the arena number?”

Carter drops his spoon. “Answer it!” 

Tony does and Carter waits with bated breath, trying to analyze the tiny little movements of his face, straining his ears to try and hear the other side of the conversation. When he hangs with a casual goodbye, Carter holds his breath. He doesn’t want to pry but he really, really needs to know. 

“They called me back.” Tony blinks at him with wide eyes. “I made the team.”

“Yes! I knew it!” Carter absolutely does fist pump. He sits back, grins. “I _told _you were good enough. Better than good enough. Can’t wait to take you out on the way to the Memorial Cup.”

“In your dreams,” Tony replies with a smirk.

Carter’s team loses their asses to Tony’s in the playoffs, but he can’t even bring himself to care when Tony does all the scoring in the last game, including the Cup-winner in OT. 

(19 and 17)

“We gotta pick out your suit for the draft,” Carter says, throwing himself down on Tony’s bed. He pulls out the red paisley tie he wore to his own. “Got you covered, tie-wise though.”

“I’m not going.” Tony says without looking away from the video game he’s playing.

“What? Are you kidding? You _have_ to go!” Even if Carter puts aside the plans he has for the draft, it’s a once in a lifetime experience.

“I don’t want to go and not get drafted again.”

“You’re totally doing to be drafted. You just scored the Memorial Cup OT game-winner.”

“I never have before.” Tony pauses his game, looks over at Carter. “Imagine spending all that money and time to go all the way down to South Florida and then I don’t get drafted again.”

“We have to go, it’s tradition!” Carter pushes himself up, crosses his legs. “You were there for me and now I get to be there for you.”

Tony chews on his bottom lip for a minute (holy shit, is it beautiful all bitten and red like that). “You really think I’ll get drafted?”

“Of course. And before me, like I’ve always said.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” he relents. “But you’re buying me ice cream when my name doesn’t get called.”

Tony gets drafted by the Lightning. It isn’t the Leafs, but it could be worse. They did just go to the Cup Final, after all.

“Hey, you look good in blue,” Carter says to Tony after he’s through doing his rounds and getting his pictures taken.

“Everyone looks good in blue,” Tony answers, color high on his cheeks.

“I told you that you’d go before me.” He grins. Tony deserves all the good things.

Carter hopes that he can be one of those things.

“Are you almost done here?” Carter thumbs over his shoulder. “I, uh, I have something back at my room for you.” 

Back in the room is a bottle of actual champagne and a bucket of ice. Carter even got some of those plastic champagne flutes that you stick the bottoms onto. 

“Not to one-up you but,” he says, presenting the set-up to Tony. 

Tony tries to hide his smile, tuck his lips off to the side. “You got glasses.”

“Too much?”

Tony picks up one of the plastic glasses. “Not at all.” 

They cheers to their blue teams and the NHL and finish their glasses quickly. Tony’s phone keeps lighting up with notifications until he puts on some music and flips the screen over on the desk. He grabs the bottle and climbs into the bed closest to the door. 

“This is yours, right?” he asks, fluffing a pillow. 

Carter swallows. “Yeah.” 

“Well, c’mon. We’ll watch a better movie than we did your year.” 

Carter huffs but kicks off his shoes and joins Tony, taking the bottle from him to refill his own glass and set it on the bedside table. “Just because you fell asleep doesn’t mean you get to forget who picked that movie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tony reaches over Carter’s body to get the remote and Carter very nearly grabs him around the waist to keep him there, stretched over his lap. It’s bad enough when Tony turns and their lips are mere inches apart. It’s even worse when Tony settles on his knees by Carter’s hip, remote in hand, and smiles. 

Carter thinks this is the moment, the one he’s been waiting for. He could lean in and close the distance, part Tony’s lips with his own. Just something soft, something Tony deserves. 

Tony’s eyes flick down to Carter’s mouth and that’s about as green as a light can be. This is happening. Everything he’s ever wante--

Two loud knocks startle them, Tony twisting toward the door. The champagne-filled bubble they were in pops. 

Carter might just murder whoever it is on the other side of that door. Surely no jury would convict him after such a fucking rude interruption. 

“Hey, Rocco, I know you’re in there!” someone bellows through the door. Carter doesn’t recognize the voice, but--”

“Collesy!” Tony pops up from the bed, flings the door open. “My man, what are you doing here?”

Carter would also very much like to know what Michael Dal Colle is doing here in Sunrise when he was drafted last year. And why exactly Tony is looking at him like _that_.

“Came to take the team out to party, duh,” he answers. Carter wants to object, wants to tell him to leave. He’s got the party covered.

But he knows that he can’t. “Wow, that’s nice of you, coming down to hang out with your teammates.”

“South Beach, baby!” he yells. Carter’s glad this whole wing is players, because Jesus.

Carter takes a deep breath and rises. He walks over to Tony and straightens his tie. “Take good care of my tie while you’re having fun.”

“Psh.” Tony pulls off the tie, hands it over. “I definitely won’t need it.”

“Oh,” Carter says quietly, looking down at the fabric in his hands.

“See you later,” Tony says, turning away. Dal Colle throws an arm around his shoulder, gives Carter a little two-fingered wave.

“Don’t wait up,” he says, while Tony looks at him like a puppy.

The door closes and something in Carter shatters. He’d thought. They were.

Now he regrets hoping Tony would make that team. 

(20 and 18)

He doesn’t wake up to the news but it’s a close call. 

After all the lead up, all the _anticipation, _he’s not going to get a chance to play on Toronto ice with the maple leaf on his chest after all. He’s been traded. To the Islanders, of all places. 

He thinks about texting Tony but he just, he knows Tony has enough stuff on his plate. He knows that they’re not the same as they were a year ago, that Tony isn’t his person anymore. Fuck, the _Islanders_. 

He looks up their record from last year and groans. 

It’s fine. Not all teams are good but he can help make this team great. Yeah, he’s going to have a strong camp and make the opening night roster. He’s going to prove that he’s invaluable, that the Leafs made a big fucking mistake. The dream is still a dream, even if it’s not in Toronto. 

His mom knocks on his bedroom door and reluctantly lets her in. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” he lies. “I’m fine.”

“I was thinking we could splurge and go get some waffles somewhere. What do you think?”

He thinks he wants to bury himself in bed and wallow but he knows that won’t make it hurt any less. Waffles won’t help either but they do taste good, so that’s a point in their favor. Despair doesn’t taste like anything. “Yeah.” 

She hugs him and takes a little bit of the disappointment with her when she leaves him alone to get ready. 

The restaurant isn’t too full and they get seated right away. Carter gets a waffle and a big pile of eggs and bacon. It fills him up but doesn’t lift his spirits very much. His phone has stopped vibrating so violently and he dares to check it while his dad pays the bill up at the counter. 

There’s a text from Tony. _Hey, I’m ready whenever you wanna go fishing. _There’s a little fish emoji at the end, because of course there is.

Carter smiles and closes out of the message. 

“Finally read something good?” his mom asks. 

He pockets his phone. “Yeah just, you know, friends being nice and stuff.” 

“I’m glad.” 

Carter plays along until his dad comes back and they head for the car where he shoves that little glimmer of joy Tony’s message brought back down where he keeps all the other little things he misses about him. 

He’s being ridiculous, he knows. It’s just hard, missing Tony. He’ll get over Tony not wanting him, he will, he’s just...

He pulls his phone out. _Haha, I’ll let you know when I’m ready _

Maybe they’ll see each other before he leaves for camp in a couple of days, but Carter is pretty sure they won’t.

Bridgeport is not New York and it’s not a dream. 

Bridgeport is Carter’s own personal hell. Michael fucking Dal Colle and his stupid fucking face is always around. It eats him up inside, thinking of Tony with him. Talking to him. Texting him. Confiding things in him that used to be _his_. Oh god, he’s an actual disaster. 

“Swags!”

He sighs. He so hoped the nickname would die in juniors. He certainly doesn’t have any swagger here and didn’t really have any then. It’s a mockery. “What?” he snaps.

“Uh, we’re in the middle of a _drill_, bro. Get your head out of the clouds.” 

He goes through the drill and clanks the puck off the crossbar, which seems par for the course. Nothing about this year is going right.

He isn’t really surprised when he’s called into Coach’s office and informed he’s heading down to the ECHL. It isn’t like he’s been doing shit here, so. Whatever.

Where in the hell is Independence, Missouri?

“Swaggy!” Carter looks up from where he’s packing his bag, hoping that his face isn’t giving away how much he’d rather talk to anyone else on the planet.

“Hey, MDC, what’s happening?” 

“How many times have I told you to call me--”

“Not to be rude, but I have a plane to catch in like, an hour.” He turns back to his bag.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, just wanted to tell you to work hard and you’ll be back up here in no time. If you’re half the player that Rocco says you are, you’ll be back in no time.”

Carter winces. Yeah, because that’s the reminder that he needs at this exact moment. That Tony prefers this douche Michael Dal Colle to him. That he talks to him about things, about _him_. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Catch you around,” he says before he’s gone.

Carter angrily throws the rest of his things into his bag. 

Missouri is mostly terrible. It’s in the middle of nowhere, the game at this level is a mess, and Carter’s sharing an apartment with three other guys who just want to party every night.

It isn’t all bad. He meets a girl, she’s pretty nice. They date for a little while, have some fun. 

But she doesn’t want to leave Missouri, and Carter doesn’t want his stop here to be long-term.

They go their separate ways at the end of the season. It is what it is. 

Carter doesn’t see Tony before he’s off to Tampa for prospect camp. He’d wanted to see him, but he hadn’t expected it. Which is fine, since, well, yeah.

And anyway, Carter doesn’t want to hear anymore about how awesome MDC is. He’s going to have to see the guy at his own prospect camp soon enough. 

Ugh.

(21 and 19)

Carter’s taking a shift early in the scrimmage when the coach waves him off the ice. He’s confused, but he skates over and starts to take a seat on the bench.

“No, you’re needed in the room,” he’s told.

Carter’s pretty sure that he knows what this is now, and to be honest, he isn’t upset at all. Not this time.

No, this time the gut punch is finding out just where he was traded to.

He’s in the process of trying to find a nondescript bag to pack his things up in when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

_Holy shit, Carter!!!! _

Well, Tony seems more excited than expected.

Tampa is nice. Warm, but nice. Carter doesn’t know what to expect, walking into his third NHL locker room, especially not somewhere as non-traditional as Tampa Bay is, so his plan is to just keep his head down.

It’s weird to know that the Carter of a handful of years ago would have travelled here with Tony but that this, or rather, _he _didn’t even see Tony over the summer. 

So he keeps his head down, and things may be going a little better than they were with at the Islanders camp, but he still finds himself among the first round of AHL cuts.

Carter’s breath catches in his throat the day Tony walks into the Crunch locker room. It isn’t fair that the sight of him still makes Carter’s heart try to beat out of his chest. He’s supposed to be over this shit. 

He sees when Tony notices him and receives a small, crooked smile. Carter tries to smile back but he thinks it comes out as more of a grimace. He drops his eyes and focuses on taping his stick.

He gets hurt early in the season, because of course he does. He rehabs and works to get better as quickly as he can. Then, when he’s finally healthy, Coach won’t play him. 

He’s a healthy scratch night after night. He’s starting to panic, because this feels like Bridgeport all over again. He’s going to get sent down to the ECHL for good, his NHL dreams all but officially over.

Carter jumps when someone drops down next to him. He’s surprised when he looks up to see Tony.

He sits there for the longest time, just staring at Carter with his big, lamp-like eyes. It kind of reminds Carter of six-year-old Tony.

Carter’s chest goes a little warm with the thought.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“You have to talk to coach,” Tony answers, no-nonsense as ever.

“What good would that do?” Carter shakes his head, starts to look away. Tony actually grabs his face and pulls it back. Carter’s breath catches in his throat all over again.

“You are better than being scratched every night and you need to go in there and tell him to give you the chance that you deserve!”

“Don’t know if you’ve followed my career, but I’m not really better than anything.” He tries to pull away, but Tony tightens his grip.

“That’s _bullshit_. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go show Coach your worth.” 

Carter loves this, loves seeing Tony all earnest with his righteous anger. Carter’d kiss him right now in this moment...if, you know, he wasn’t already taken. All he can do is nod. 

Tony pulls his hands away, satisfied. “Good. Do it today.”

Carter waits until he walks away to brush the places where Tony had touched him. 

He does go into Coach’s office that day, like he promised, and demands playing time. And it...works? 

“You will?” he asks, just to be sure he’s heard Coach right. 

“You’ll play the next few games. You’ve got your shot.”

Carter stands and thanks him, still in disbelief. What the fuck, that never works.

But he’ll take it.

He gets put on Tony’s line and they have all the chemistry he’d ever hoped for. And more.

The first time he buries one of Tony’s passes right from the slot is abso-fucking-lutely magical. 

And when Tony is first into the hug? It’s the closest to perfect that Carter’s ever going to get.

He closes his eyes and leans into Tony in the circle. He’ll blame it on relief that he finally scored, if anyone asks. 

They’ve sort of settled into a, well, Carter wouldn’t call it their previous friendship, but things are okayish. He thinks. 

Carter might start a scrum with Dal Colle the first time they play against Bridgeport, but Tony doesn’t say anything about it later. It feels good to get a few hits in anyway.

Tony gets the call in March, and Carter couldn’t be prouder of him if they were together like he’d always imagined. He wants to go to Tony, wish him well and tell him how proud he is, but he knows it isn’t his place to do that sort of thing anymore.

He pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text.

_Congrats on the call, I always knew you’d do it._

Tony sticks with Tampa, as Carter expects. 

What he doesn’t expect is being called up as a black ace once their playoff hopes are dashed. By the Marlies. Of course.

It isn’t as exciting as he thought it’d be. A little sunning, a couple of practices, sitting in on two games, and then they’re all sent home because the team has five NHLers already sitting in the press box every night. 

Carter doesn’t go home. He’s not ready to leave hockey behind for another year. So he spends too much money on a hotel room and tickets just to get to see Tony play. It’s amazing and worth every single penny ten times over. 

His heart hurts for Tony when they lose in the conference finals, literally one game away. It would be a good time to reach out to him, to maybe give him a shoulder to cry on, but Carter doesn’t know where they stand. Tony probably has someone to support him. He doesn’t need Carter.

(24 and 22)

Tony’s pretty excited to be back in Tampa. He feels good, feels confident. A whole year of NHL hockey under his belt does wonders. It feels like he _belongs_ here now. 

“Nice flow, rookie!”

Tony bats away the ball of sock tape. “Not a rookie any more.”

“They grow up so fast,” Johnny says, faking tears. “But seriously though, it’s pretty nice.”

Tony knew they’d all notice how long his hair is, that he might get a few chirps, a few jokes thrown his way. He kind of likes it though, heard it looks good. “Better than yours.”

Johnny scrunches his face up in doubt as he goes over to bother Pally. 

It all feels comfortable as the vets file in and settle in their usual stalls, strike up conversations about their summers. That is, until a familiar face that doesn’t belong just yet walks in the door. 

He meets Carter’s gaze as he scans the room, tries to give a nice, genuine smile but he’s pretty sure he overshot it. Carter gives him a bro-nod and heads for the empty stall in the corner. The crap one that the rookies always get at first.

Tony sighs. 

Still the same, then. He wishes he knew what the fuck happened. It’d make it easier to apologize for, to try and get back what they had. 

As it stands, Tony can’t really do anything but hope he’ll get to stay this time. Tony really, really, _really_ wants him to stay. 

Two weeks later, he knows it happened before Carter even gets the words out. Tony knows that bright, beaming smile. He knows what it means. 

The beat reporters surround Carter at his stall and he absolutely glows as he talks about making the team, about skating in his first NHL game, what it means to him. Tony’s heart wants to burst right out of his chest. He wants to run through the crowd and wrap Carter in his arms. Pop a bottle of champagne, the nicest he can find. 

But that would probably be weird. Their drafts feel like decades ago. 

At least he can congratulate him in person instead of a lame text. 

There’s always a few nerves on opening night, even if he’s done this before, even if he feels like he belongs here. Tony keeps watch on Carter as they get ready, watches him tape his socks and tie his skates. He notices the nervous ticks, still the same after all these years. 

Once Tony’s got his skates on, he crosses the room. “Hey.”

Carter looks up at him, neutral expression stuck firmly on his face. “Hey.”

“I, uh, didn’t know if you had a spot in line yet?” Tony rubs the back of his neck. 

Carter blinks. “No. I guess I don’t.”

“You can stand in front of me, if you want.” Tony tries to keep his voice neutral, tries not to sound too eager. “We can walk out together.” _Like we dreamed about in Toronto._

Something complicated flits over Carter’s face and he looks back down at his laces. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, if that’s...thanks.”

“Cool.” His heart betrays his calm facade, fluttering against his ribs like a butterfly as he heads back to his stall and tries to think about game tape and not the way Carter’s eyes lit up for just a moment when he looked up at him. 

Carter flies around the ice during warm ups, the blue jersey with the Lightning Crest looking perfect on him. Way better than Toronto blue or the Islanders’ crest. This is perfect. This is how it was always supposed to be. 

He he goes through his warm up routine until it hits him: Carter doesn’t have a warm up routine. Not here, at least. Tony scans the ice quickly and finds Carter over in the corner behind the net. He can do this. 

“Hey, you need a jump partner?” He tries to sound casual while also yelling over the music. 

Carter raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

So Tony takes a lap and rushes toward Carter and their shoulders meet in the air, perfectly timed. 

Carter turns a bright smile Tony’s way once they’re back on their skates. “Hey, you can stay on your feet now.” 

Tony shakes his head and skates away, grabbing a puck and tossing it toward the net. The warm feeling in his chest is nice. It’s a start. He can work with this. 

He can absolutely not work with this, everything is terrible. He’s getting nowhere. Carter still ducks his presence almost immediately if they’re out somewhere.

Tony’s feeling extra grumpy about it one day when he’s in the Oshawa group chat.

_Rocco: I’m just sick of him never even wanting to talk to me_

_Mac: Who?_

_Collesy: He means Swags_

_Collesy: Right?_

_Rocco: Yeah, that’s who I mean. I don’t know why it’s so different. What changed at my draft?_

_Collesy: Are you shitting us right now?_

_Rocco: ????_

Tony’s phone goes off. A separate text from Collesy.

_You really don’t know?_

Tony frowns. _No_

_He had you in his room with champagne? Didn’t you see the look on his face when you told him you didn’t need his tie? Or when you left with us with hardly a goodbye?_ He’s typing something else, but it’s taking a while. Tony wonders if it’s something being re-written or if it’s going to be a whole book. _Jesus, I was such a dick to him because I thought that you didn’t like him and he was pushing. But you’re just a fucking idiot, aren’t you?_

Oh. 

_God, no wonder he was always such a dick to ME when we played together_

Tony is a fucking idiot. Holy shit. Holy. Shit. _I’ve got to go_

_Fix your shit, Rocco, istg_

Tony mutes his phone and tosses it on his end table.

“Why does your face look like that?” Johnny asks, settling on the couch with a plate of sandwiches. 

Tony continues to click through channels. “It looks the same way it always does.”

“No,” Johnny argues. “It looks more pathetic than usual.” 

That gets Tony to sit up a little straighter. “I’m not pathetic.”

“Your face says otherwise. Tell Papa Tyler what’s wrong.”

“Ew, you’re not that much older than me.”

Johnny takes a few bites of his first sandwich and waits. 

Tony sighs. “Okay, so. You know how you and Pally like, fell in love on the ice and shit?”

“Sure do.” He smiles all toothy and joyful. 

“Well, I kind of like, have a similar situation? But I did something to screw it up.” 

“What’d you do?”

“I...don’t know?”

Johnny narrows his eyes. “What’d’you mean?”

“I mean, we were at my draft and he bought me a bottle of champagne to celebrate and we drank it and then some friends came to the door and were all like ‘let’s go out!’ so I did but he stayed behind and I didn’t even think twice about it because I’m an asshole but I should’ve…I should’ve stayed.”

“So you _do _know what you did.” He gestures with his sandwich. 

Tony swallows, nods a little in shame. “Yeah I...I guess I do.”

“So what’s your actual question?”

“Um.” He sighs, tries to gather all his words and put them in the right order. “How do I make it up to him?”

Johnny sets down his plate and cracks his knuckles. “You came to just the right place. I am a master of all things romantic.”

Tony’s not real sure about that but he’s willing to try anything at this point. 

“So first,” Johnny starts. “You need to ramp up the interest again. Make it clear that he’s the only guy you want. Casual touches are so good. Just like, a hand on his lower back if you’re walking together or like, lean over him to grab something off a shelf. Get all up in his business as often as possible.” 

“That seems like…a lot.”

“Hardly. You should also start dressing nicer when you know you’re going to see him. No more t-shirts and joggers. You want skinny jeans and tight polos, anything that shows off your ass or chest. Do you know if he’s an ass guy?” 

Tony literally has no idea. “Uh…”

“It’s fine,” Johnny scoffs. “He probably is if he’s a hockey player. Wait...he _is_ a hockey player, right?”

“Yeah. For sure.” Tony debates the next thing he says but goes all in. “It’s Carter.” 

“Swaggy?!”

Tony winces at the nickname, knowing how much Carter hates it. “Yeah. Yup. That’s him.”

“Oh this is amazing.” 

“Are you going to make a big deal about this?” Tony asks, already holding his face in his hands. 

“Me? Make a big deal about something? No,” he says very seriously. “No way. But you do definitely need to start bending over in front of him like, consistently.” 

“I should have never said anythi--.”

“And like, biting your lip when he’s talking to you.” 

“Johnny, no--.”

“Tuck your hair behind your ear sometimes. Oh! Wear a _thong_. You’ve got the ass for it. He’d definitely notice.”

Tony stands up then and makes a beeline for his room. “I’m not doing that. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that at all and just...walk away.” 

“You could totally pull it off!”

“I can’t hear you!” 

“You know I’m right!” 

Tony shuts his door very firmly. Yeah, he’s not doing any of that. 

“So how’s Operation Swaggy going?” Johnny asks when they’re all around the kitchen island finishing up dinner prep a few weeks later. 

“We’re not calling it that.”

He looks unimpressed. “Whatever. How’s it going? You lay a kiss on him yet?”

Tony hasn’t changed his routine in the slightest, he hasn’t increased the amount he touches Carter, and he certainly hasn’t purchased any thongs. They’re cordial with each other and they have their warm up jump and like, the other day Tony caught Carter smiling at something he’d said and his whole chest warmed up. “No,” he says. “I’m taking it slow.”

The timer goes off and Johnny swings around to pull the three baked potatoes out of the oven. “Oh damn,” he says. “We left the skin on.”

“Yes?”

“I hate skin. So much. Will you peel mine for me while I go grab the steaks off the grill?”

Tony looks at the flaming hot potato in front of him. “You want me to...peel this. Right now. After it’s baked.”

“Yeah, it should all just come off pretty easy, right?” 

Tony sincerely doubts that. “Why don’t you peel your baked potato and I’ll go get the steaks.”

But Johnny’s already halfway to the patio and ignores him. Tony picks up the peeler and reluctantly gets to work. 

The potato is so hot. Like, actively burning his fingers and _fuck_ the peeler. “Why am I doing this?” he asks himself, mumbling curse words under his breath. 

“Oh wow, you are not good at that,” Johnny says, returning with steaks and a recording cell phone. 

Tony frowns. No one peels a fucking cooked potato. This is stupid. “Are you going to put that online?”

“Absolutely,” Johnny says. 

“Why? I look like a complete asshole.”

“Which is perfect. Swags won’t be able to resist.”

“Oh god.” He drops the peeler and hangs his head. Carter’s going to think he’s useless. Who wants a boyfriend that’s useless? 

His phone vibrates and everyone in the room watches him pick it up and read. _Should I nominate you for Worst Cooks in America? Do you think Canadians can be on that show?_

“What’d he say?” Johnny asks when Tony doesn’t give up the information freely. 

“He thinks I’m so stupid I can’t peel a potato. I look like an idiot!”

“You are an idiot!” Johnny shouts back. 

“He didn’t need to know that!” 

Johnny just smiles. “Bro. And please know I say this with all the love in the world. But if Carter’s known you for this long, he definitely already knows you’re an idiot. It’s okay. It’s part of your himbo charm.”

“Please don’t ever say himbo again.”

“I make no promises. Let’s eat before everything gets cold.” Johnny reaches over and takes one of the unpeeled potatoes before heading for the couch. 

“Hey! I thought you didn’t like the skin!” 

The potato jokes lessen eventually and Carter warms up to Tony a little bit more each passing day. They almost feel like friends again and the place in Tony’s heart that was missing Carter doesn’t feel so empty. 

They finish up the last practice before a road trip and all Tony can think about is eating the most massive lunch and taking a nap. He’s a little beat up, a few bruises here and there and he just needs the rest. He settles in his stall and sighs. His stick tape is wrecked. He’s going to have to redo it. 

“Hey, Carter,” he calls across the room. “Can you pass me some tape?” 

He expects him to toss it or possibly even pitch it, but what Carter does instead is walk the tape across to where Tony’s sitting and hand it over. Their fingers brush as the tape changes hands and Tony’s whole body lights up. It’s not even...it’s just bros but Tony _yearns_. He’s actualy fucking yearning for Carter’s touch and this is all just so much more than he can take right now. 

No. No, he has to change this. He can’t do this anymore. “Thanks,” he says, already ripping off the old tape on his blade as he comes up with a plan. 

The plan turns out to be ambushing Carter in his own apartment. The apartment Tony stayed in last year once he got the go-ahead to find someplace more permanent. He knows the way and that kind of calms the nerves swirling around in the pit of his stomach. 

He went home after practice and did his hair and picked a nice button-up and may or may not be wearing the expensive cologne he bought on a whim after his first paycheck. And now he’s sitting in the garage of Carter’s apartment building. 

He’s got this. 

Right, yeah, okay. He gets out of the car and heads for the elevator, heart rising into his throat as the elevator ascends to Carter’s floor. He knocks on the door before he can get cold feet. 

Carter opens it looking soft, his hair curling a little on top. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. 

Tony’s never seen anyone so perfect. 

“Tony, hey. What’s up?”

Super great question. “Uh.” 

Carter’s face falls into something more serious and his eyebrows knit into a worried crease. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yes. Everything’s fine. Sorry, uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out? In my car. I mean, can I drive you somewhere? To talk?”

Carter’s mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “Where are you gonna drive me?”

“Will you please just get in my car.”

That earns Tony a laugh. “Yeah, Tony. Whatever you want.”

Tony drives them around for a minute before getting on the interstate and heading for the beach. Beaches are romantic, especially with a sunset. It’s perfect. Carter doesn’t say much from the passenger seat, just taps his fingers to the music and watches traffic pass by. 

It’s not a short ride to the beach. Tony should probably start talking about something but he knows that this quiet companionship is too perfect to ruin. If he was braver, he’d reach over and take Carter’s hand but, well, he needs to explain himself first. 

“Why are we here?” Carter asks, absentmindedly closing the car door and looking towards the sand.

“I figured that we haven’t seen a sunset together in a while?” Shit, he didn’t mean to make it a question, but it’s too late now.

“No.” Carter smiles at him. Shit, how does he look like this? “We haven’t.”

“There’s some stuff in the back if you wanna get it while I pay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Tony pays while Carter spreads the blanket down on the beach. He’s picked the best spot, close to the highest water line mark, but not quite to it. He throws himself down, makes himself comfortable. 

He knows he has to start the conversation. Might as well dive right in. “So you remember the summer after your first year in Niagara?” 

Carter looks over at him. “Yeah, of course.”

He takes a deep breath. “That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I…” He forces himself to look Carter in the eye, makes himself hold his gaze. “I was falling in love with you. And I should have said something, back then, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. You were so amazing and I was so proud of you and I kno--.”

“Tony.” He shuts up when Carter brushes his palm along his jaw. “It’s okay. I get it. There was a lot going on back then and you met Michael and...” Carter drops his hand, shrugs. 

Tony blinks. “W-what?”

“I’m just saying, you liked me but then you found someone better.”

“There’s no one better than you,” Tony says, with every ounce of honesty he can muster. “Carter I...Michael doesn’t mean anything to me. Whatever you think happened, it didn’t. Not even once.”

“But yo--.”

“Was a total fuck up. At my draft.” Tony frowns. “I was sort of tipsy from the champagne and I didn’t even think. I should have. I wanted to...”

“To what?” Carter asks. And Tony knows he’s never going to have a better opening than that. He leans in, has to close the distance, to finally know what Carter feels like in his hands and against his lips. 

Carter pulls away, just barely. “I love you, too,” he whispers.

It’s disgustingly perfect, so much more than he could have ever dreamed. Carter...Carter _loves _him. 

When they break apart again, Tony leans his forehead against Carter’s and smiles. “We were so dumb, weren’t we?”

Carter’s laugh is soft and shy. “Yeah, we were.”

Tony pulls back just a little, looks out over the water. It’s a beautiful sunset. He kind of wants to take a picture of it to remember this moment. He wants to take a thousand pictures of a thousand sunsets with Carter next to him. Oh god, he’s such a sap. “C’mere.” 

He pulls Carter back into another kiss, and another, and one more. He lets that one linger, watches Carter’s eyes open slowly, like he’s savoring it. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Tony asks. 

“I’d love to.”

Epilogue

The last thing Carter expected when Tony asked him to talk was this. He isn’t complaining, but he’s sort of in awe of the fact that he gets to have this, have _Tony_ after all. 

Carter reaches a tentative hand across the center console. Tony smiles and laces their fingers. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” Tony asks.

Carter snorts. “And listen to Johnny? No, I think we should go to mine.”

They go back to his place and order some food that is definitely not on their diet. They sit practically on top of one another while they eat, and Carter _wants_ to feed Tony, but he doesn’t know if that’s something he can do yet.

He’s mostly done eating when Tony puts both of their containers down on the coffee table.

“What’re you--?” Tony places his head onto Carter’s shoulder and pushes his nose right into Carter’s neck.

“Always wanted to do this,” Tony mutters.

Carter runs a hand into Tony’s hair, squeezes gently. Tony groans quietly and it sends a little jolt of happiness through his entire body. “Always wanted you to do it.”

They wake up in the same position two hours later. Carter smiles at nothing in particular. “I have it on good authority that there’s plenty of room in my bed for the both of us.”

“What? Who?” Tony asks, shooting into an upright position.

Carter laughs. “I meant you, genius.”

“Oh.”

“Come to bed,” Carter says quietly, pulling Tony towards the bedroom. 

Carter is put on a line with Steven Fucking Stamkos for the game the next day and not only does he get two assists, but he finally scores his first god damn NHL goal. The sound of the crowd cheering when he scores is so much more than he ever thought it would be. 

This is better than the Leafs. He _belongs_ here.

They name him third star and he has to answer some questions on the bench. And do media. Cooling down and stretching is boring, but he knows he has to do it, too. So many things.

Tony is all suited up and waiting patiently (or as patiently as he can, at least) in his stall when Carter returns from his shower. He scrambles to his feet as soon as he notices Carter. “Are you ready to go?”

“After I put my shoes on.”

“Why aren’t your shoes on?” Tony drags out the last word. It’s all very dramatic right now, just short of actual foot stomping and it’s almost funny enough to drag it out.

But he actually really wants to get home too.

“You’re right.” He throws himself down into an empty stall and slides them on. Fuck his socks.

He doesn’t even spare a glance in the direction of the people waiting for autographs. He’ll sign double next time, or something, but this is more important. He drives straight home, a short three minute drive, and waits for Tony to pull into the spot next to him in the garage.

He grabs Tony’s hand before he’s even closed his door. “C’mon.”

Tony laughs, they’re already halfway to the elevator by the time Tony hits the button on his fob.

They’re both antsy in the elevator, but they are still only touching by that one hand.

Until Carter gets his front door closed and pushes Tony up against it. He steps in close so they’re touching almost everywhere along the length of their bodies and then brings his hands up to trace the lines of Tony’s face.

Up his jawline, down the sharp edges of his cheekbones, across his lips and over the arch of his eyebrows. Tony whimpers and goes a little limp against the door. “Why are you being such a tease?” he whines.

“It isn’t my fault that it’s been so long since I’ve gotten a good look at my lucky charm,” Carter says quietly. He frowns. “Well, not totally.”

Tony goes red. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“How could I ever?” Carter asks quietly.

He leans in and parts Tony’s lips with his own. Softly, just like he’s always wanted.

Carter loses track of how long they stand there, just kissing one another. Tony’s mouth opens to let out a little gasp and Carter takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his fingers threading into Tony’s curls. “Come to bed,” he whispers.

Tony nods. “Y-yeah. Yes. I want that. You.”

They kiss there for another couple of minutes before Carter tugs on Tony’s suit, leads him towards the bedroom. They fumble out of their clothes, leaving a messy three-piece trail on the way to Carter’s bed.

Carter pushes Tony down on the bed before he climbs up after him. He straddles Tony’s hips and trails light fingertips up Tony’s torso on his way up to his lips. He tangles his fingers in Tony’s curls at the same time he leans in for a kiss.

“God damn, I’ve been in love with you for so long,” Carter mutters in between kisses. A quiet little keen escapes Tony and Carter takes the opportunity to close his teeth on Tony’s bottom lip. “You’re so fucking hot, what did I do to deserve you?”

Tony pushes up just enough to throw Carter off balance and switch their positions. “You think I’m hot?” he asks, pressing Carter’s shoulders down into the mattress. “Do you own a single mirror?”

“I’m not into myself,” Carter smirks, cups Tony’s jaw. “But I have been in love with a certain beautiful boy for the better part of ten years.”

“Got news for you.” Tony tips in, hovers close. “I’m not the beautiful boy between the two of us.”

“Agree to disagree.” Carter shrugs with one shoulder.

“No,” Tony replies before he kisses Carter.

Carter just lays there for a few minutes enjoying everything about Tony. How it feels to kiss him, the way Tony tries to touch him everywhere at once, even the soft little whimpers he makes in between kisses. 

Eventually he pushes himself upright and spins Tony back to the bed. Lays out along his body, makes sure as much of them is touching as possible. 

He grinds down and watches Tony’s eyes flutter shut, his lashes fanning out so long against his cheeks. “Will you let me do this?”

Tony, eyes still closed, smirks. “No.”

This time when he tries to put Carter on his back, Carter’s ready. He pins Tony’s wrists to the bed and settles his full weight across his hips. A thrill runs down his spine when Tony’s body goes still, his mouth dropping open in a silent sigh. 

“How about now?” Carter asks, leaning down to press a kiss along Tony’s cheekbone. 

Tony tilts his head, searching for Carter’s lips. 

Carter doesn’t let the kiss last long before he pulls back and finds a place behind Tony’s ear that makes him shiver in his grasp. Another kiss down his neck and along his collar bone earns him a throaty groan. Tony tries to lift his hips but Carter keeps him still. 

He kisses the inside of his bicep and the bend of his elbow, drags his tongue up to where he’s holding Tony’s wrist. He places a kiss in the palm of Tony’s hand. 

“Now?”

Tony hums and relaxes further into the sheets. “Yeah.”

Carter goes back to his shoulder and down over his chest. He thinks about how good Tony would look all bitten up and bruised, little marks made by his mouth. He bites at Tony’s pec before pulling his nipple between his teeth. 

Tony sucks in a gasp of air, his ribs standing out with the breath. Carter soothes him with kisses there and finds a ticklish spot that makes him giggle. 

He has to let go of Tony’s wrists to go further, down along his hip and across the flat muscles of his stomach. 

Tony is hard, and Carter really wants to dip lower, get his mouth on him and not stop until Tony is incoherent with pleasure. But that isn’t for tonight.

Tonight is about them and how they’ve finally found one another properly and they should celebrate together.

“I love you,” Carter says, getting a hand on Tony.

“Love you too,” Tony echoes, his hand blindly reaching for Carter as well. 

Carter moves in and searches out Tony’s lips. It isn’t long before they lose their ability to kiss properly and are more or less just brushing their lips together as they approach the edge. “You should come first,” Carter breathes.

“No, ugh, you.” Tony squeezes his eyes together, bites his bottom lip.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” Carter breathes into Tony’s ear. The words go through Tony in a shudder and Carter follows him right after.

They’re quiet in the aftermath, just sharing little kisses. Carter knows that they should go clean, he does...but they’ve played a game and had sex and are in love and it’s all too much right now.

He decides, as he settles next to Tony and pulls the covers up, that they can clean up properly next time. And all the times after that. 

They have forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> As many as they need.


End file.
